i'm pinned down by the dark; makes my head pirouette

[kestreldawn]

WHO: Jyn Erso
WHERE: By the fountain/Jyn and Cassian's Cabin
WHEN: Future-dated to March 16, late afternoon/evening
OPEN TO: OTA/Cassian (Separate thread posted for Kira)
WARNINGS: Mention of war, blood (sort of self-harmy?), violence (Will update as needed)
STATUS: Open

---

// OTA - By the Fountain //

It had been a mistake, realized too late: attempting to climb the precipice in the northern part of town. She hadn't been doing it for any reason other than pure curiosity - wanting to know first-hand whether the stories she'd been told held any truth ("no one can leave," "everyone who tries is struck down," "the only way out is by death").

Even more foolish had been her attempting to do it alone.

She'd reached about ten feet up when the first floating orb wafted by. She hadn't thought much of it until another one showed, then another, then another - until they practically congealed around her in a brilliant, blinding burst of light - and for a moment she thought, the air sucked out of her lungs -

Scarif. The Death Star. It's happening again.

And in her panic, she'd begun to flail her arms while trying to maintain her grip on the rock's surface, not realizing that this would agitate the insects - or that they would retaliate against her.

It had been one sting - a little zap of pain on the side of her neck. She swatted, bringing palm to skin with a resounding slap. Then it was another, on her left arm - then four more through the fabric of her shirt on the expanse of her back. She leapt down from the crag, covering the back of her neck as she tried to run away, tried to escape the incessant daggers masquerading as flying insects.

It's when she reaches the fountain that the hallucinations and paranoia begin to set in.

She is back at war, back in the jungles of Onderon. She reaches for the blaster at her thigh only to discover it's been lost - or worse, taken. She ducks for cover in a small patch of trees, heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears, breathing short and furious. She trembles, petrified of an unknown enemy, wondering where the kriff her comrades have gone off to; have they left her behind?

// Cassian - The Cabin //

She hadn't told anyone where she was going that morning - not even Cassian. Part of it was because she didn't wholeheartedly believe in the danger, despite the warnings she'd received. Part of it was because she knew the reprimanding sort of look he would give her if she had told him - the silent worry glittering like a galaxy behind the blackness of his eyes. She couldn't stand to see it. So, she'd ventured out alone - didn't lie or come up with an alternative excuse, just said she would be back later.

After the attack, she eventually finds her way back to the cabin - some dull, weak part of her brain remembers it - knows it's familiar. She still sees the jungle, still feels the oppressive heat and the stink of rotting vegetation, but there's something in her, underneath the layers of fever and projected surroundings, that knows this place is safe. Or safer than the rest.

She's crouching, hiding underneath their porch - taking cover from imagined enemy fire that feels more real than the dirt pressing against her belly. Mutters and curses to herself that she's lost her weapon and has been left defenseless, not realizing the volume at which she speaks.

[ota] i kept running for a soft place to fall

[3ofswords]

WHO: Kira
WHERE: Anywhere between the canyon walls and the edges of the Village; The Fountain
WHEN: Evening/Sunset, March 15
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Flying insects with intent to harm
STATUS: Now closed to new threads

---

the woods

If not for the cloud of insects herding him, Kira isn’t sure how long it would have taken him to find the village again. His cards were back in the woods, somewhere in the fog, and the creatures spared him no time to choose directions--only cut him off in glowing streaks, stretching across openings in the trees until he was forced to turn for another. Once he was darting in what seemed the acceptable direction, they would pull back into their teeming mass, gather, and dive at him again, on an arc that dragged the ugly, static noise of them terrifyingly close to his head.

He’d dreamed of being consumed in a roar of fire, concussive heat, for a third of his life. They should only be fireflies, should only cast small lights in the fog, but at every cluster and pass, there was fire in their glow, a roar in their wings, a prickling terror. He wondered if their touch might burn, if their rounded bodies hid sharper parts.

They’d been pretty, like the lush moss around the spring, when he’d found them in the narrow cave. His exploration of the foggy woods had taken him north and west, until the dirt had become chipped stone, and his hands were touching the cold surface of the walls. Trailing along it, hoping to find the river and follow it home, he’d come across a natural crack--some feat of water and winter cold--that he’d just been able to slip inside. The passage had carried on to a slight corner, starting to widen, and the blue-dark walls had been dotted with winking lights like a night sky.

Kira had stood transfixed, another moment to wonder if there weren’t small rewards in the shit-river they were swimming against the current of--until the lights had drifted from the walls, forming the buzzing cloud he now ran from.

When he’d backed out of the narrow passage and into the open, the fireflies had streamed out after, and he’d lost his coat fending off their first attack. Sweeping it through their ranks had bought him a few moments of time, but had cost him the protective layer, his knife, and his cards. Down to his dark scrubs, he’d bolted into the forest, dodging and pushing himself around trees as they appeared through the fog. The paths this far out were unclear, but they seemed intent to steer him in some direction--perhaps the river, perhaps home. All he could hope was that a shelter or body of water was on their trajectory, and that his aching legs and lungs didn’t drag him down before he found it.

the fountain 

As the sun sets against the blooming canopy, new leaves briefly gold above the fog, Kira breaks the trees at the edge of the fountain path. His faded scrubs are torn by branches, his hair damp with fog and sweat. His bare arms are striped with scratches and scrapes, but he still flees the dreaded burn or bite of the insects, the cloud of them building behind him in a final coil before a strike.

With one backwards glance, he carries on his breathless momentum, dragging one cold and cutting breath into his lungs before he pushes himself up, a long leap over the stone lip of the fountain, crashing through the water in a splash that reaches up as the fireflies swipe down. Lungs already popping from the exertion, he snatches only moments of cold sanctuary before he breaks the surface with a gasp, but the insects are already following their arc up into the sky, dispersing out over the trees.

The water is too cold for comfort, a shock to his exhausted body, but he makes no immediate move to pull himself out. He sucks down another stinging breath, letting himself float on his back, staring at a lone star appearing against the purples and reds of sunset. “What the fuck,” he sighs in the exhale, body slipping higher and lower in the rippling water as he catches his breath.

[Feel free to join his flight from the fireflies in the first part, or find him in the fountain in the second; again, if you want to use this as an opportunity to get stung, feel free, but Kira is bite-free.]

(no subject)

[womanofvalue]

WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Peggy & Stella's House of Intrigue
WHEN: Backdate to March 4th
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson, Percival Graves
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed to specific characters

---

Since she arrived, Peggy has been accumulating information. At first, with Killian's help, she'd put together a decent map picking out routes in the canyon and mapping terrain. After the incident that left her stranded for nearly a full day, she'd shifted her focus to something a little less dangerous. She'd begun to write down people's scrubs colours, their backgrounds, histories, whether they believed themselves alive or not, and began to cobble together working notes.

Now, what she needed was second opinions. She'd been staring at this puzzle longer than she could think about without growing sharp with frustration and needed the help of others to take a look at what she had and determine whether or not she'd absolutely lost her mind. It was why she'd put the kettle on, set out some of the few remaining biscuits she had left, and left word for specific parties that she trusted to offer their analytical minds on her notes.

Thank goodness she had been gifted with a pen and notebook, though even that is beginning to run out. If she decides to analyse another aspect of this strange village, she might have to simply learn how to make paper herself, which certainly wouldn't be a hardship after spending all the time learning how to fish in order to keep herself properly fed.

For now, though, patterns. Patterns and people and predictions, as if she could somehow work a way out forward if only she could see how it all came together.